


Unbuttoned

by eidheann



Series: Unabated [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Banter, Bottom Draco, Fingering, Flirting, Hung!Harry, M/M, Oral Sex, Penis Size, Potion Master Draco Malfoy, Size Kink, Smut, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/pseuds/eidheann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry asks for Draco's help in finding a birthday gift for Narcissa. Draco doesn't suspect ulterior motives. Until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbuttoned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capitu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY INES! I love you so much <33  
> Much love and thanks to iwao and firethesound for getting me through this thing and whipping it into shape.

In the years after the war, Draco had come to cherish his quiet life. Each morning he awakened to Kneazle whiskers tickling his face and a cold nose prodding his cheek. After pushing Salazar off and prying himself from his warm bed, he would cross his flat to the kitchen to leave kibble in the bowl and turn on the coffee, and then go to his bathroom to shower and dress.

His coffee would be ready by the time he was, and he would sit at the small table near the window in his kitchen, where he would eat bread and jam and drink coffee all while reading the _Prophet_.

During the week, he would then fold the paper, send his dishes to the sink, and Floo to St Mungo's a few minutes before 9, and on weekends he would laze about the flat until afternoon, when he would run errands or spend time with his mother, or with Blaise and Pansy, or with Theo when he was in London. The first Sunday of each month was supper with Greg and Millie and their two children, and for the most part, that was the largest source of chaos in his life.

So Draco was understandably perturbed when, upon arriving in his lab in St Mungo's on that Tuesday morning, it was to find Harry Potter slouching on Draco's stool, dressed in Auror robes and looking sheepish and anxious in equal measure.

He was quick to smother his initial burst of annoyance. Potter had spoken for both Draco and his mother after the war, and indeed was likely the sole reason he was working in St Mungo's. They were nodding acquaintances, passing each other occasionally in Diagon Alley or the Ministry, but hadn't exchanged more than a handful of words since the trials.

But Potter meant a disorder of Draco's carefully organized life, no matter how harmless his current expression, and Draco schooled his own face to neutrality.

"Good morning?"

Potter's expression brightened in a grin when he saw him, and it was all Draco could do to not step back out of the room. _Nothing_ good could come from that expression, he was sure of it. "Draco! Good morning!"

Draco's first instinct was to admit Potter to Spell Damage, since if he was standing in Draco's potions lab and calling him _Draco_ , something obviously had scrambled his brains. But Potter was an Auror, so Draco didn't trust his chances of stunning him or even calling an orderly to disarm and deal with him, brain scrambled or not, so Draco decided he was on his own.

"What are you doing here?" He was pleased the question came out as neutral as his expression, and he stepped further into his lab. 

Potter's expression brightened even further, and he sat up straighter. "I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch at the Leaky with me this week? Your mum's birthday is coming up, and I'd like to get her something. I was hoping you'd have some advice."

Draco knew he was gaping like a fish. "You... want to get my mother a birthday gift?"

Potter's messy hair bobbled as he nodded, and Draco was forced to acknowledge he'd not misunderstood any of Potter's words. They just made no _sense_. "Why?"

Potter leaned in, his expression going furtive, and Draco found himself mirroring the position automatically. "It's Andi—Andromeda. She's commented that now that Teddy's old enough to ask about family, well, she's mentioning a... reopening of communication. I thought I'd try and ease the way."

Draco blinked, straightening. Potter's explanation made sense; he knew his mother regretted the rift with her sister, but was uncertain how best to go about mending the breach. Going through Potter was actually a very logical choice, and Draco found himself nodding thoughtfully. "I can do that. But we don't need to go to lunch, I can just—"

"Great! Thanks, Draco!" And Potter pulled him into one of those weird handclasp-one-armed-hug things he'd watched Gryffindors do on the Quidditch Pitch for seven years, before he left the lab in a swirl of robes, leaving nothing but a faint woodsy smell behind.

It was only after the sound of his steps had faded in the distance that Draco wondered why he was thinking about Potter's smell.

**.o.**

> __  
> DM  
>  Thursday noon?  
>  HP 

Draco stared at the parchment that had been sitting on his desk when he arrived in his lab Wednesday morning. Four words, scribbled in the chickenscratch that Draco vaguely recognized from Hogwarts.

He had nothing pressing, nothing that he couldn't get an hour free for lunch from at least. But holding the parchment, feeling the slight indent on the back where Potter had pressed hard enough to score the letters through the page, made him question what the fuck he was doing.

Thursdays were _not_ for lunches with Potter. None of the days in his carefully organized weeks were.

But a part of him, the tiny part that still smarted with rejection from that long ago failed handshake, thought this might be a toe in on the friendship he'd always wanted so desperately. After all, if Potter was smoothing the way for interactions between Draco's mother and aunt, couldn't _he_ use his mother and aunt to finally gain friendship with Potter?

Draco nodded to himself and grabbed is own parchment.

> __  
> Potter  
>  I will meet you at noon Thursday at the Leaky Cauldron. I will also bring a list of the things I was planning on getting Mother for her birthday, so we can ensure there is no doubling up.  
>  Thank you, I am in high hopes that your assistance will help to bring my mother and aunt closer together.  
>  Draco Malfoy 

Draco frowned at the scroll before sealing it and tossing it into the chute that would take it to St Mungo's Owlery. There was a fluttery feeling in his stomach that he knew was nerves, and he spared a moment to curse the effect Potter _still_ had on him.

**.o.**

Draco arrived at the Leaky on Thursday exactly on time. It was crowded with the usual lunchtime rush, but a first and then second more careful look revealed the same thing: no Potter.

Draco's first thought was that this was a trick. Some lingering school rivalry thing, that Potter had never intended to meet him, only to laugh at making him wait. He tried to push down the feeling, lingering near the Floo and shifting uncomfortably as more and more people entered.

It was ten minutes later, when the hard ball of hurt had grown into something that filled his stomach, that an owl came winging in the window and landed on the cluttered mantle. It hooted imperiously at Draco and held out its leg.

Draco's first thought was to send it off without taking the letter. But for all he was tempted to tell himself he didn't care what anyone had to say, he couldn't stop himself from taking the note. The owl flew off immediately, and Draco stared at the wrinkled parchment.

Finally, he unrolled it. It was small, and vaguely triangular in shape, obviously ripped from a larger sheet, and filled with Potter's cramped chickenscratch.

> _DM  
>  Sry! Robs. caught me o m w out the dr  & sent me on s-out. Din tom? My treat – apology. Pls.  
>  HP_

Draco stared at the scroll and the seemingly random string of letters that made up most of it. There was an apology there, which... well, he supposed that was the important thing. Apology meant he was standing Draco up, or whatever one calls it when it's a lunch and not a date.

He sighed, and then turned back to the Floo. He'd go back to St. Mungo's and have his usual lunch in the tearoom. It was only a little late. And maybe while he was there, he could decipher Potter's note.

**.o.**

> __  
> Potter  
>  I understood two words of what you sent me. How did you get out of Hogwarts with handwriting and spelling like that?  
>  You seem to want to do something as an apology. I'm uncertain what that is, as I cannot interpret your strange code. Acceptance of apology will be determined by what exactly you're intending to do. Remember, you want my HELP in coming up with a good gift.  
>  Draco Malfoy 

Draco sent the scroll to the Owlery and turned back to his cauldron. He hoped he struck the right balance, frustration and sarcasm without dickishness. He wanted Potter apologetic, not defensive.

But he couldn't do anything about it now; the letter was sent. So he turned back to his cauldron, losing himself in the comforting familiarity of stirring and chopping and waiting.

**.o.**

When Draco arrived home that evening, it was to find Salazar sitting beside a barn owl on top of his kitchen table. He scratched the Kneazle's large ears before reaching for the scroll in the owl's talons.

The owl surprised him, butting into his hand with a sound rather like a cat's purr, and only releasing the letter after getting a thorough scratch as well. He smiled in spite of himself, watching fondly as the owl flew back out the window.

> _DM  
>  Haha. Arse. Lucky for you I do need you. I know it's Friday, but can you please find time in your extraordinarily busy schedule for dinner with me tomorrow? 7:30 at The Stirring Rod. I've already made reservations.  
>  HP_

Draco blinked. The Stirring Rod had a waitlist at least a month long. He wondered if Potter's name was enough to get in the next day, or if this was some sort of existing reservation Draco was using.

His mind swam with possibilities, but when he caught himself thinking of the dinner as a _date_ , he quickly shook his head and put the kettle on. Potter might be able to swing reservations for one of the most exclusive restaurants in England, but there's no way he was using it to _date_ Draco Malfoy. They weren't even friends yet.

But when Draco closed his eyes, he could remember Potter's retreating back in precise detail. The stretch of robes across his shoulders and down the lean angle of his back, the way his hair flopped and arms swung, the slight bounce in his heels as he strode out of Draco's lab, and the faint woodsy scent left behind.

Yet.

**.o.**

No matter how many times Draco told himself that this evening with Potter wasn't a date, he couldn't seem to convince his nerves. After his third botched Pepper Up of the morning, he threw the stirrer across the room and marched upstairs to the tearoom.

A large mug of Earl Grey and a chocolate biscuit did much to settle his nerves, and he made his way back to his lab in better spirits. He was distracted enough that he worked through lunch, and he cursed when he made it back to the tearoom to find it entirely picked over.

After another mug of tea and a limp chicken sandwich, he attempted to finish his stack of Potions orders, but found his earlier nerves had returned tenfold. He found himself staring blankly at his cauldron when he was supposed to be chopping, and stirring clockwise when the potion required anti-clockwise. All the time, he couldn't get the image of Potter's smiling face out of his head for more than a minute at a time.

When his Department Head poked in around teatime and saw his mess, she sighed and told him to _get the fuck out of here and get some sleep before I have to dock your pay for all the ingredients you've wasted,_ he found himself pacing his flat, under the bored gaze of his Kneazle.

After an hour spent in a failed attempt to distract himself with a book, he gave up and let it slide to the floor beside his chair. Salazar hopped onto his lap, purring loudly, and he scratched the overly large ears.

"This isn't a date."

Salazar looked up at him, blinked once, and then meowed. Then he jumped off Draco's lap, strode imperiously to his food dish and glared.

He laughed, because it was the first normal part of the day, and fed the Kneazle.

**.o.**

When Draco arrived at The Stirring Rod ten minutes late, he was mostly certain he had his nerves under control. He'd dressed in his second best robes, navy blue with dozens of pearl buttons from waist to neck, that was at once formal without being as severe or stuffy as his black robes. More importantly, they were his _lucky_ robes, and things always seemed to just... go well when he wore them.

He reckoned he could use the boost.

He was led to a table near the back, tucked away in a small pocket of Wizardspace for privacy, and Draco's certainty that this was some sort of existing reservation solidified.

Then he stumbled. Potter had risen from his seat when he saw Draco, and he looked _stunning_. He was dressed in green robes; simple, but obviously well made, and the cut highlighted both his broad shoulders and slim muscles. His hair had even been somewhat tamed.

And Draco was so unused to thinking of Potter as _attractive_. It was something he was aware of, Potter was attractive just like the sky was blue, but it was never anything Draco thought could apply to him.

And now he was going to sit to dinner, with Potter looking more delicious than the restaurant's famous Osso Bucco. _Fuck_.

Potter gave him another of those handclasp and hug things, pulling him away from the _maître d'_ and settling him into a seat. "Thanks for coming! You're a lifesaver."

Draco smiled weakly, feeling completely wrong-footed. Potter ordered wine and appetizers, and Draco found himself nodding along without registering what he was even agreeing to. His mind was caught in the loop of just how bad this was going to be: sitting with Potter, eating with Potter, and not saying something stupid about his eyes or his hair or his shoulders or _Merlin_.

"Draco?"

And _fuck_ but Potter is really calling him Draco now? He made a strangled noise, then coughed, reaching for his wine. After a sip, he took a deep breath. "Sorry. Draco?"

Pink rose, staining Potter's cheeks and ears, entrancing Draco. "Well, I'm Teddy's godfather, and Andromeda's practically adopted me as an auntie. Seems like we _should_ be more familiar." Potter took a sip of his own wine. "Besides, calling you _Malfoy_ makes me think about being back at Hogwarts, and we've moved beyond that, yeah?"

Draco nodded slowly. "All right. Ha-Harry." He frowned. "That's just odd."

Potter laughed. "Yeah. It'll get easier, though."

Draco sat back, silently rolling the word around in his mouth. _Harry_ was so soft. Breathy. Something made for whispers and darkness, sighs and gasps. It made his cock twitch in a rush of blood.

And bloody Potter sitting there, sipping his wine and looking completely unaffected. It was miserably unfair.

"You're thinking it."

Draco's head snapped up, and he frowned at Potter across the table. "Thinking what?"

Potter grinned. "I can see you still Potter-ing me in your head. Your eyebrow does this little twitch."

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, well, I've been Potter-ing you for the last dozen years; I'm not going to stop entirely in an instant. You can't say you instantly stopped thinking of me as Malfoy."

"I so did."

He snorted. "Pull the other one."

Potter raised a hand. "Scout's honor."

"Were you Obliviated?"

Potter stared at him a moment, before his lips twitched and he burst out laughing. "No. I wasn't Obliviated."

"Because I'm not afraid to tell you, since apparently we're friends now, that when you showed up at my desk on Tuesday, I almost called an orderly to take you up to Janus Thickey."

Potter gasped loudly. "You were going to send me to Spell Damage?" And his tone was so dramatically scandalized that Draco found himself laughing as well. "I can't believe you. I try to bury the hatchet and you try to have me admitted."

There was a faint flash, and a plate appeared on the table between them. Potter dropped the hurt expression and his face brightened dramatically. "Excellent. You really need to try this." 

Then he reached out, grabbing one of the small toasts scattered on the plate and bringing it to his mouth. Draco sat, stunned, as Potter, and damn it, he was _Harry_ in this moment, as Harry's eyelids dipped and he let out the faintest moan as he took a bite.

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat, dropping his gaze to the plate before he could be caught staring. "What is it?"

"Mmm." Harry swallowed the bite and smiled at Draco, all lazy and sated. "It's a Bruschetta made with chutney and Gorgonzola. I get it every time."

"Come here often, then?"

Potter smirked, his gaze dipping briefly, obvious in his perusal of Draco's face and chest. "Often enough to know what I like."

And Draco had no idea how to respond to that. Potter—Harry—was _flirting_ with him. And Draco wasn't going to delude himself into thinking that it was anything but. Instead, he took another sip of his wine to buy himself time while his mind whirled in frantic circles.

But... fuck it. "And what is it you like? Not a dinner trip to solicit ideas for my mother's birthday, I take it."

"You." And it didn't matter that Harry went pink-cheeked when he said it, his expression was determined in a way Draco hadn't seen since fighting him for the Snitch.

It only took a split second for Draco to decide that yes, he _wanted_ to be caught, and he let a smile spread across his face, growing in a way he knew promised all sorts of things. "I suppose you'd better make it worth my while, then."

Harry's expression morphed to a leer. "Enjoy your dinner then, because when you're done, I'm taking you back to my flat and not letting you out of bed until Monday morning."

Draco blinked, cursing the hot flush racing up his neck. He was used to Slytherin innuendo, not Gryffindor bluntness. "I'll need to feed my Kneazle." And he cringed, because he couldn't imagine a more idiotic thing to come out of his mouth in that moment.

But Potter didn't laugh, though his smile deepened into something warmer and less entirely made of sex. "I know a house elf. We won't let your Kneazle starve. And you should eat up as well. You'll need the energy."

**.o.**

They whirled into Harry's flat in a tangle of robes and arms and legs before the Floo. He only had the briefest of impressions: a dim room lit only by the fire, before Harry grabbed his head, and leaned in, a brush of lips before groaning quietly and stealing a second kiss. Draco whimpered, opening his mouth to lick gently at Harry's lips. They stood several moments kissing in front of the fire, before Harry started marching him backwards. He stumbled several steps until the back of his legs hit something and he toppled.

He stared up at Harry from the plush cushions of the sofa, at his flushed face, lips pink and wet, and reached for him. Harry groaned again, dropping one knee beside Draco on the sofa, and his hands went immediately to the buttons on Draco's robes. "This bloody thing has been driving me mad all evening. All these buttons, I couldn't think about anything but getting you out of them."

Draco cleared his throat, hands sliding up Harry's sides, feeling the muscles bunch and flex. "Well, they _are_ my lucky robes."

Harry laughed. "They're going to get you very fucking lucky, I can promise you that."

"Mmm. Never figured you for having a buttons fetish." And then he gasped, because Harry had opened the top far enough to reach his neck, and the hot mouth against his skin stole his breath.

"Not a fetish. But you're always so... buttoned up. It makes me want to muss you." And then Harry's hands were in his hair again, rubbing and messing. Draco would have complained, but he was too busy pulling Harry closer, brushing kisses over the rough stubble of his jaw and breathing in the scent of his skin.

"God, you just..." Harry groaned, pulling away to stare down at Draco again. "Get these off. Off."

And the feeling of Harry's hands fumbling with the buttons, the slide as the cloth slowly spread open below his collarbones, revealing the undershirt below. Harry stared, gasping for breath like he was chasing the Snitch, and Draco could _feel_ the heat in his gaze scorching his chest. Well, Draco could see the appeal of being mussed, if it caused Harry to react like this.

He reached up again, pulling Harry into a desperate snog, all tongue and teeth, his own fingers twisting into Harry's messy hair.

Draco was uncertain how long they remained there, Harry half-kneeling over him on the sofa, tongues sliding and fingers clutching, but it felt like hours. The only sounds in the flat were the occasional pop of the fire, gasping breaths, and the pounding of his blood in his ears.

He just felt... thoroughly kissed. He couldn't remember anytime in the past that he'd been _kissed_ like this. Like there was nothing more important than kissing. He felt drunk, dazed, and he could only cling to Harry as they kissed longer and longer.

Finally Harry pulled away again, and Draco couldn't help the small whimper of disappointment as they broke contact. Harry grinned at the noise, standing and pulling Draco up after him. "Bed." 

It was a rush, Draco attempting to gather both his breath and his disorganized thoughts as he was dragged up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway. He passed a closed door, and then was shoved up against another. Harry kissed him again, one hand on his neck, the other sliding down his side and hip to briefly clutch there, and he wrapped his own arms tight around Harry's neck in return.

After a moment, the hand on his hip moved, and there was the noise of a fumble behind him. But then he heard the click of a latch and the door opened behind him. He immediately began backing up, pulling Harry with him and trusting Harry would get them to his bed safely.

It was four steps before Harry broke away again, pushing him back until he bounced onto the bed. Immediately, he was back to Draco's buttons, and Draco laughed. "There are spells for that, you know."

"What? Your buttons?"

"Mmm. Why do you think so many small buttons are fashionable? Not because it takes an hour to get into or out of them."

Harry groaned deep in his throat. "No, I'm going to do this by hand. And maybe later, I'll button you back up."

Draco may have whimpered, but the avid expression on Harry's face, the single-minded focus, caused his cock to throb painfully. Harry's gaze sharpened either way, and he leaned in, mouthing along Draco's jaw. "You like that, do you? Is that why you're always so tense? So buttoned? Waiting for someone to undo you?"

Draco found himself nodding frantically, even though the thought had never entered his mind. Anything to keep Harry's mouth hot on his skin, and the tickling touches of his hands moving slowly down his chest.

It was the only thing that kept him from grabbing the wand from his sleeve and spelling the buttons open himself. Instead he set to work on the simpler closures of Harry's robes, working them quickly and pushing the robes back and down Harry's shoulders. 

Harry huffed a sigh and wrestled his arms free, and then pulled his undershirt off as well. Draco knew he whimpered then, faced with that smooth, golden skin. There was a dusting of black hair between Harry's flat coppery nipples, and a trail that led downwards and under his trousers.

Harry's impressively tented trousers. And that's when Draco realized Harry must have been maneuvering all evening to keep it from bumping into him, because there's no way he could have missed the bulge otherwise. He reached, his hand quicker than he'd managed all evening, and felt it: hot and hard and so very wide in his grasp. "Fuck me...."

Draco wasn't certain if his words were a request or a statement of surprise. Because _of course_ the Savior would have a Savior-sized cock, and he both wanted it and feared it in equal measure.

For his part, Harry looked surprised. "I usually bottom."

And Draco groaned, because Harry was taking his statement literally and that caused a hot wave of _want_ to wash over him. "Fuck me, please."

"Fuck..." Harry breathed, and it was the most wonderful thing Draco had ever heard before. "What's the spell? Or I'm going to rip those robes right off you."

Draco fumbled for his wand, not wanting to release Harry's cock, and spelled his buttons open. Harry immediately shoved the robe wide, pushing Draco back down onto the bed, legs dangling off the side.

Draco began working his arms out of his robes while Harry attacked his flies. Finally-- _finally_ \-- he reached inside and pulled out Draco's cock, giving it a slow stroke. Then he leant down, and Draco couldn't breathe for the moment Harry's head dropped, only to gasp when Harry bypassed his cock entirely, mouthing wetly on the jut of his hipbone.

"You fucking bastard."

Harry smirked up at him, before stepping back and tugging Draco's trousers and pants off entirely, leaving them piled with his shoes. "Get comfy."

Draco sat up, finally able to get his robes off, but decided to ignore his shirt in favor of getting Harry's trousers off as well. But when he reached, Harry grabbed his hands. "No, if you want me to fuck you, we do it my way."

"I want—"

"It's okay. But I'm going to suck you first."

Draco flopped back, not even caring about the strangled noise he made at that. Which didn't matter, because as soon as his back hit the bed, he felt the wet heat of Harry's tongue teasing the head of his cock.

It was torture. Harry was obviously determined to torture him to death. First he licked; slow small licks like a cat, before he took the head into his mouth for a brief suck. Then he did it again. And again. And all the while, he ran the hand not grasping Draco's cock lightly along his skin, from his knee to his nipple, teasing under his shirt until Draco couldn't stop the flow of words pouring from his mouth. Pleading words he would have sworn before this evening that he'd _never_ use with a lover.

He wasn't even aware when Harry's hand stopped its maddening slide, dropping around the back of his leg to tease at his crack, until he felt the pressure of Harry's dry finger barely breach him. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck..."

Harry groaned, dropping to _finally_ swallow Draco's cock. 

Draco thrust, scrambling for Harry's hair when he pulled off immediately again, to murmur a quiet _"Accio."_ Draco heard a rattle, and then a slap, and he pushed up to see Harry spitting a cork onto the floor beside him. Harry met his gaze, his expression pained, and the finger that had been teasing his hole was removed, only to be replaced by another, this one covered in slick.

Draco concentrated on his breathing, feeling the slow slide of the finger inside him. The faint friction, even with the slick, along his rim caused his toes to curl. "More."

"Shh...." Harry's voice was quiet as he nuzzled Draco's cock. 

Draco raised his head, bracing himself on his elbows as he watched Harry's cheek slide along his cock, felt every pinprick of stubble. He wrapped a leg around Harry, pulling him closer. "More. Please."

Harry held his gaze, sucking Draco's cock back into his mouth and sliding a second finger into him. Then there was a twisting stretch within him, as Harry slowly slid in and out, matching the slow pace with his mouth on Draco's cock.

Draco watched him. Because he couldn't _not_ watch. Harry's lips, stretched dark and wet around his cock. Harry's eyes, bright and green and unblinking, watching Draco. His world narrowed to the green of Harry's eyes, the delicious burning stretch of fingers steadily rubbing into him, sliding again and again. The simultaneous prickle of heat and chill of sweat in his hair and across his chest. He couldn't get enough air, but at the same time felt like he never needed to breathe again so long as Harry _never_ stopped.

Then there was pressure as Harry pressed a third finger into him, and Draco nearly came off the bed. His nerves were raw, the sheets against his back feeling almost the same as the stretch of his rim, and he closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the mattress. "Potter," and he was proud of how steady his voice sounded. "If you don't stick your dick into me soon, I'm going to knock you over and sit on it."

Potter pulled off his cock, though continued the maddening slide into his arse. "What happened to Harry?"

Draco's laugh felt strangled, and he stared up at the white of the ceiling to attempt to keep his words smooth. "Harry would be fucking me right now. Potter is the arse who's apparently only interested in teasing." And he clenched the muscles in his arse, smirking at the squeak Harry made in response.

"You're the arse." Draco didn't care what Harry said, because he was _finally_ pulling the fingers out of his arse, and Draco heard the quiet sound of the zip from Harry's trousers, followed by the slide of cloth on skin.

And at that, he had to sit up, to look; he had to see what he'd only felt so very briefly and through layers of cloth. The trail of hair from Harry's navel widened and thickened as it went down and his cock jutted out nearly horizontal and leaning strongly to the left. Draco reached out, letting his thumb brush across the head, before grasping it loosely. When he dragged his eyes back up, Harry was standing tense, jaw clenched and trembling.

Draco pressed a soft kiss to the cockhead before tonguing the slit, and Harry whimpered. "Who's teasing now?" And Draco was surprised; he'd expected Harry to move, but he remained still, tense.

"I'm not teasing," Draco murmured, sliding back onto the bed. "Come on. Fuck me."

Harry stood another moment, watching Draco. Draco simply reclined on the pillows, waiting for Harry to... think through whatever was causing him to hesitate. Finally, Harry nodded, crawling onto the bed and on top of Draco.

Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's hips as Harry dropped down and began kissing him again. And it was so much better, skin sliding on skin, the heat of Harry's cock against his hip.

When he felt a finger teasing his rim again, he reached up and twisted Harry's nipple in response. "Ow! Fuck!" Harry pulled back far enough to glare, one hand covering his chest.

"If you start fucking playing with me again, I am going to do much worse."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Merlin you're.... Fine. Like this or do you want to turn over?"

Draco didn't answer, only pulled a knee up, exposing himself even more. It was gratifyingly effective, as Harry immediately scrambled for the vial, dripping the remaining slick on his fingers and rubbing it along his cock. Harry's hand pressed against the back of Draco's raised knee, bending him almost in half, and he began pressing against Draco's loosened hole.

At first, the feeling was familiar. Pressure that increased steadily, the initial burning stretch that fingering never entirely alleviated. But this was _more_. Usually after the initial stretch, there was relief. The stretch stopped, overwhelmed by the pressure, and then pleasure, inside him. But this continued, wider and longer, a never-ending burn. His erection flagged, and he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. 

Harry babbled jumbled nonsense in his ear, and continued that long slow thrust. Every moment closer, deeper, and Draco's body struggled to acclimate, to accept. Every moment, Draco almost asked Harry to pause, to stop, and every moment his body opened further, first allowing, and then demanding more.

And then it stopped, and Draco blinked his eyes open, blinked through the tears. "I'm in. I'm in." Harry's breath only barely had words, and Draco clutched at him, opened and stretched, as he'd never imagined before. "Fuck, Draco."

They were both quivering with strain, and as Harry slowly rocked his hips, _"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't. I have to move,"_ Draco didn't think he'd survive the return press. That if Harry hadn't been on top of him, pressing his leg into his chest and holding his knee, he'd have fled. 

But each slide grew longer, smoother, and the spark inside him fired again. He gasped when Harry pulled back, grabbing Draco's other leg and resting each on his shoulders. The change of angle set blood rushing back to his cock. "Yes." Harry's words were a hiss between clenched teeth, and his face was flushed red with strain. "Fuck, Draco."

Draco didn't care. He reached for his cock, pulling desperately. The lead-up, the teasing. The years of barely-acknowledged what-ifs. The feeling of Harry, of Harry's cock, pounding into him was too much. He was oversensitive, and his hand on his cock felt both painful and wonderful in the same way that Harry's cock felt where it was buried inside him.

"Come on. Come on." And Draco wanted to release his cock. To concentrate on the feeling deep inside him, the feeling his body had finally— _finally_ —acknowledged as pleasure. "Draco, please." But Harry's words, their pleading tone was too much. His heart was pounding, and each breath gasped around the tightness in his chest. 

He stroked his cock, watching Harry: the furrow of his brow, the way his hair had both curled and flattened in places, wet with sweat, the painful-looking flush of his cheeks, the way his own gaze seemed locked on Draco, as if Draco was his entire world.

It was Harry's face, his expression, and the combination of avidity and tenderness there, which tipped Draco over the edge. His back arched, toes curled, and he shot across his stomach and chest. The sound Harry made at that was one Draco never wanted to forget, and he pounded even harder into Draco's arse.

Draco's eyes drooped, as Harry continued fucking into him, overwhelmed by the lassitude following his orgasm. The feeling he didn't think he could take, of Harry's cock stretching and filling him up, now strangely comforting as the rhythm faltered, as Harry let Draco's legs drop, he buried his head against Draco's neck, mouthing the pulse point as he arched and groaned and finally stilled.

Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's shoulders, as he was certain they were the only part of him that could still move. "I'm probably smothering you." Harry's voice was hoarse and breathy, and Draco's hands clenched tighter. 

"S'fine." Harry's weight was heavy on him, but he was hesitant to lose it, to have to acknowledge or, Merlin help him, _discuss_ the fact that he was in Harry Potter's bed, much less that he was there with Harry's slowly softening cock still up his arse.

He'd much rather bask. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into Harry's hair, smelling the salt and sweat and sandalwood that caused his heart to thump in his chest. 

"Here. Let me clean you up." And Harry was pulling away, sliding from Draco's arms and arse in the same pull. He whimpered, and Harry's expression immediately went concerned. "Are you alright? I didn't...."

And his words trailing off told Draco many things: about Harry's insecurities, but more important, about his caring. Caring for Draco. 

Draco smiled up at him, knowing his expression was stupidly besotted. In that moment, he didn't care how much it revealed. He wanted it revealed. "You didn't. I'm fine. Better than."

And Harry's smile grew, lighting his face. And Draco was certain he would be seeing that expression again. Many times, if he had his way. He would do anything.


End file.
